


Clarity

by goddessofcruelty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Danny Mahealani is Part of the Pack, Danny is a shark, Emotional Constipation, Happy Ending, M/M, Minor Cora Hale/Jackson Whittemore, Minor Isaac Lahey/Kira Yukimura, Minor Lydia Martin/Scott McCall, Minor Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Public Blow Jobs, References to past dub-con, Torture, Violent Death of a Minor, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-16 17:07:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1355134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek saw what he always saw in those eyes.  He saw the broken edges where Stiles remembered stabbing his best friend and twisting the sword in his gut, remembered tormenting the girl that he loved, remembered feeling the oni that he had converted killing Allison, remembered Lydia sobbing, remembered dying.  </p><p>Derek looked away. He had his own demons, his own litany of people that he'd gotten killed. He had no healing to offer Stiles.</p><p>-</p><p>Witches interrupt Scott and Lydia's wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tragedy

_Every pack has a hierarchy._

Derek Hale could hear his Uncle Peter's voice in his head as he looked around the gathering, remnants of the lessons the older man had taught to the children of the pack ringing in his ears.

When there had been a Hale pack.

Now it was the McCall pack.

_The Alpha is the soul. As the Alpha goes, so does the Pack._

Derek watched his Alpha a moment, remembering the days when he'd tried to get Scott to be _his_ beta. Scott had been destined to be an Alpha, he was g _ood_ in a way that Derek, broken as he was, would never be.

_The Second is the right arm. The Second enforces, directs, and trains._

Next his gaze flitted to Peter. Peter was...complicated. On one hand, he'd adversely affected the lives of just about everybody in the room. On the other, he had essential and unique expertise in things no one else did, excepting only the mysterious (and somewhat shady) Deaton. Plus, he hadn't done anything that didn't benefit the pack in _years_.

 _Technically_ , he outranked Derek.

In all practicality, though, it was Derek who was Scott's second. He hadn't wasted a second taking Scott as his Alpha, of throwing himself wholeheartedly behind the teenager. It was to Derek that Scott had come to for advice in those first few fragile years, dealing with the nogitsune and all the other crazy shit that had been lured to Beacon Hills by the Nemeton.

_The Alpha's Mate is the heart. The Mate brings cohesion and harmony._

Derek's nose twitched as he smelled the ridiculously expensive perfume that Lydia chose to wear, as she reached across his legs to nab another of Melissa Stilinski's chocolate chip cookies. A banshee was seemingly an odd choice for an Alpha's mate, but she balanced out Scott perfectly.

Each was strong where the other was weak.

They were the poster children for power couple, and they'd fought hard to have what they did. Almost nobody approved of them in the beginning, not even Derek himself. It had seemed, at the time, that they were clinging together to both be closer to Allison. Years later, he could admit that he'd been wrong.

Others were not as magnanimous.

_The Emissary is the brain, of the Pack and yet set apart. The Emissary advises, plans, and strategizes._

Reluctantly, Derek's gaze flitted to Stiles.

It wasn't that Derek didn't _like_ looking at him, Stiles was _beautiful_. There was no other way to describe him, that long graceful neck, eyes that went from pale honey to the darkest whiskey depending on his mood, framed by long sweeping lashes. Even the three parallel scars along the jawline on his left side only enhanced the looks that he had grown into. And Derek could spend forever thinking about the height and shoulders that Stiles had finally grown into.

And his thousand watt smile that could light up a whole room, now so very rare. More often the lips that Derek wanted to crush beneath his own were twisted in a smirk, the closest Stiles got to expressing his amusement with something nowadays.

Derek remembered a time when those expressions of joy had been freely given, shared with anyone in their path. He would never admit it to anyone, but on the thumb drive that he kept his copy of the bestiary, along with scans of important legal documents, he had a small video file from the security cameras at his old loft.

One of the pack had got it into their heads to throw a party there. (He'd never actually figured out who exactly was to blame for that.) The kids had gotten themselves drunk and painted each other, and whatever else stupid teenagers did, and there was this tiny ten second clip, where you could see Stiles dancing in the crowd. And it was such a perfect expression of joy and just so _Stiles_ , that when Derek had come across it months after the nogitsune had changed the boy forever, he'd felt compelled to save it.

Stiles would never be so free with his emotions again.

No, it was not hard to look at Stiles. It was hard to **stop**.

Derek watched as Stiles extended his hand, splaying his fingers to emphasize whatever point he was making and Derek had to force himself to look away, swallowing hard. The reaction that he had to Stiles' hands were absolutely ridiculous. More than anything else, when he allowed himself the rare luxury of delving into fantasies of the younger man, it was those hands that featured prominently.

Unlike some of the wolves in the room, Derek had iron control over his emotional reactions. Not even his ultra-perceptive Uncle had any idea of the depths of Derek's feelings for their Emissary.

He didn't allow himself to feel for Stiles, and he certainly didn't allow himself to feel envious of the happy couples in the room as he looked them over.

(Six years ago, Derek would never have guessed how they would all end up pairing off, or that Jackson and Isaac would be able to put everything in the past and become the best of friends.)

_A Pack's betas are its limbs and lifeblood. Without betas there is no Pack, and no Alpha._

Cora was talking up some brilliant legal move of Jackson's to Isaac and Kira, who were applauding him. Or at least Kira was. Isaac's hand never left her swollen stomach, but his smiles were bright and encouraging.

There would be children in the pack again.

Derek doubted that Peter would be teaching them anything.

Derek pushed through the screen door to the porch where the older generation were enjoying the cooler night's air. Melissa and Lydia's mother were discussing last minute wedding arrangements, while the Sheriff was discussing relative merits of some sort of guns with Chris Argent (who had officially become part of the pack shortly after adopting Isaac).

Children and weddings... This was the peace that they had fought so hard for. That they had lost so much for.

Derek nodded a goodnight to them and made his way into the dark cover of the forest. He'd never really gotten the hang of these kind of get-togethers. Taking a deep breath, he let the sounds and scents of the forest wash over him, and gradually the tenseness of holding everything in melted off his shoulders.

Rather than running aimlessly, he walked with purpose. He knew where he wanted to spend the rest of this evening.

In the far northwest corner of the Preserve, the pack had created a cemetery. There were no bodies buried here, but there were rock cairns done in the old style, and headstones that Derek had carved himself.

His mother and father. All of his family that had been in the fire. Laura. Boyd. Erica.

Derek sat in silence with his ghosts until the sun rose.

 

-

 

His resolve to stay away from Stiles while he was in town was tested when the younger man randomly showed up on Derek's doorstep the next afternoon.

Derek opened the door half-asleep after his late night, clad only in pajama pants, and blinked at his guest a couple of times in surprise, then grunted and stepped back, leaving the door open. Stiles could take that as an invitation if he so chose.

Stiles being Stiles, he did.

He followed Derek into the kitchen as the beta werewolf made a fresh pot of coffee.

“Nice place,” Stiles said evenly, and Derek arched his brows and looked around with a shrug. Sure it was spartan and utilitarian, but it suited Derek not to get used to creature comforts. Every time he got comfortable somewhere, it was destroyed. Every time he got comfortable with someone, they died.

Derek knew better now.

He turned back and poured himself a cup, lifting it to his lips and taking a small steaming sip before arching his brows at Stiles in an unspoken question why he was in Derek's apartment.

“I need your blood for this spell-”

“Okay,” Derek interrupted what would no doubt be an extensive explanation, and extended his arm across the kitchen island. He didn't really care why, he just wanted Stiles gone before his place got saturated with Stiles' scent.

Stiles didn't bat an eye at Derek's curtness, just pulled out a syringe from his pocket and jabbed it into Derek's arm. Derek knew he did it on purpose to get a reaction, and it was his own strange form of petty revenge that he didn't even blink, though it stung a fair amount.

Stiles focused on drawing the blood out and Derek studied him in that stolen moment. He drunk in the sight of the man he loved, hoarded the images until the next time he got to have a secret look.

He shuttered his expression as Stiles finished and looked up, a brief second of unguarded expression, and Derek saw what he always saw in those eyes.

He saw the broken edges where Stiles remembered stabbing his best friend and twisting the sword in his gut, remembered tormenting the girl that he loved, remembered feeling the oni that he had converted killing Allison, remembered Lydia sobbing, remembered dying.

Derek looked away.

He had his own demons, his own litany of people that he'd gotten killed. He had no healing to offer Stiles.

Stiles opened his mouth to say something, but was forestalled by Peter letting himself into the apartment, carrying a dusty old book. Derek had tried changing the locks a few times but Peter always got a key somehow. He'd eventually given up.

A quick glance between them was all the surprise Peter betrayed at the presence of the pack's Emissary, and Stiles lifted the vial, tucking it into a hardcover eyeglasses case after sealing it.

“Peter,” he greeted cordially.

Derek simply grunted and then focused his attention on his coffee.

“The boundary spell?” Derek's uncle questioned.

Stiles nodded and they were off in a discussion of technique and preparation as Derek collected the book he had requested from his uncle and set it on the counter.

“Thanks for the book,” Derek said and opened the door pointedly. “Did you get what you came for, Emissary?”

Stiles furrowed a brow, and something like lightning flashed across his eyes, but it was gone in another heartbeat as he nodded and exited through the door with Peter, their discussion traveling onto pack politics.

It would be terrifying, the two of them teamed up, if they hadn't been on the side of his pack. And if they hadn't been balanced by the equally as terrifying (and a hundred times more principled) Scott and Lydia partnership.

Closing the door behind them, Derek turned the lock and then slid down the door, puling his legs up and resting his forehead against his knees.

He just had to make it five more days and then Stiles would be gone again, and Derek could get back to his version of normal.

 

-

 

Stiles has always been this weird mix of selfish and selfless.

There's nothing he wouldn't do for the people he loves, but when he does give his love to someone, it's obsessive and jealous. He expects the same sort of total focus from the objects of his desire.. and Stiles doesn't take no for an answer. And after the nogitsune, he became even more possessive.

Derek knows this, just like he knows everything about Stiles.

He was there for the viciousness that Stiles unleashed on Isaac when Scott began spending time with the kid, after his sole remaining family member was killed.

He was the one who for some reason had to listen to Stiles whine about Scott ditching him when he was dating Allison.

He'd been in the room when Scott had told Stiles about him and Lydia...and Stiles had lashed out with his magic in anger for the first time.

Derek had thrown himself in the line of fire, automatically protecting his Alpha, and had been burned all along his left side. He understood Peter's insanity a little better now.

It had taken a long, agonizing time for that to heal.

So, yes, Derek knew exactly who and what Stiles was, all his darknesses and broken parts, and he was well aware that the two of them simply could not have a healthy relationship. He could list all the reasons why two ridiculously possessive and emotionally crippled people wont work.

He might, in fact, have done that a time or two when it had been needed.

It doesn't help.

Not when the light catches on those honey amber eyes as Stiles turned to let Melissa adjust the tie he's wearing to the rehearsal dinner. Not when he leaned to the side and arched that long pale neck that's just begging to be marked. Not when that perfectly tailored suit highlighted all the right places.

Derek spun on his heel and went into the other room, making himself useful helping Peter move tables and chairs to Lydia's exacting specifications.

A crash suddenly sounded, echoing in the hall, as his usually deft uncle loses his grip on a chair, simply saying “Shut up” when Derek arched a brow at him.

Then he glanced over his shoulder to see Chris Argent in the doorway, looking criminally good, and Derek gave Peter a sympathetic nod. He felt a moment of gratitude that no one had seen his reaction to Stiles.

Deaton began describing the ceremony, directing everyone where to go.

Naturally, Derek found himself right next to Stiles in the front of the room, fanning out to the side of the groom.

At least he could distract himself with the entertainment of watching Peter out of the corner of his eye as Chris came down the mock-aisle with Lydia. No one but Derek knew him well enough to see the clenching jaw and the hands tucked into his pocket so they didn't betray him.

Then it was Derek's turn to be tortured as the wedding party turned and he had to stand a foot from the backside of Stiles. He found himself staring at Stiles' neck rather than listening to instructions.

Fortunately, Scott and Lydia had chosen a human style wedding, and it was all very formulaic and uncomplicated.

Derek slipped out as the staff brought the food out, heading to the Preserve and shifting. He quickly caught the scent of his uncle and decided to track him down.

For a few hours, they simply ran, worries pushed aside, until they were exhausted and lay on the grass panting, human once again.

“So, Stiles..?” Peter began.

“ _So_ , Chris..?” Derek returned in that same tone.

After a moment of silence, Peter snorted in amusement and whispered to the starry night, “ _In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith..._ ”

Derek closed his eyes. “ _...dream too bright to last._ ”


	2. Insanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> References to past dub-con between Chris and Peter.

Stiles was an excellent liar.

He'd had a lot of practice. He'd been lying to the world about the supernatural for so long that it was second nature.

What was truly difficult is lying to _werewolves_. You had to work your way around the truth, let silence and assumptions speak for you, and if you had to tell a falsehood, you needed to make yourself believe it fully. (None of which was easy for him to master.)

He was going to need all of that today. Stiles was going to stand up in front of a room full of people he cared for, people that have known him all his life, no small amount of them walking lie-detectors, and fib his face off.

Because he wasn't happy for Scott and Lydia. Even years later he still felt betrayed.

 _He_ was the one who had spent years pining over her. He was the _only_ one who recognized how truly special she was. He was the one who had forged a connection during those insane years of high school. He was the one who sacrificed so she could be with Jackson. He had saved her _again and again_.

And Scott had already had _his_ perfect romance.

The most fucked up thing about it was that Stiles didn't even _want_ Lydia any more. Well, no more so than he abstractly wanted any beautiful woman. It was just, the more he had gotten to know her, the more they had clashed. He and Lydia turned out to be a _lot_ alike, flighty and high-maintenance, competitive and cruel.

He probably could have let Lydia go if it wasn't for the fact that his _best friend_ had taken her away. 

Not that they were best friends any more. They hadn't been since Allison.

Scott had _said_ that it wasn't his fault, that he _knew_ that the nogitsune that had ordered its oni to kill Allison wasn't Stiles... But Stiles could see it in his eyes, in Isaac's eyes, in Chris's eyes. When they saw Stiles, they saw the face of a killer. Even after all this time.

The only ones who hadn't treated him differently were Derek and Peter. Which wasn't saying much since the two of them were responsible, directly or indirectly, for far more death than Stiles.

Who suddenly realized that he was staring at himself in the mirror, and shook his head out of his woolgathering. That wasn't going to help him pull this off. He had dozens of people to lie to.

Pulling out a small vial from his inside pocket, he downed it and then turned on his heel, heading to his car.

On the way to pick up his date, Stiles cleared his mind of all his personal dark thoughts and forced himself to think about happy upbeat memories. As long as he kept the right mindset, the herbal tea that he had consumed would keep his heartbeat nice and steady, no matter what he said.

By the time, he stood on Danny's doorstep, wolf whistling at the the man's excellently tailored outfit, he was back to your every-day-normal Stiles.

His thing with Danny was comfortable. They were very similar but not too much so – clever, sarcastically funny, unwilling to be too tied down, and involved enough in the supernatural that being with a “normal” would be very difficult.

Turns out, Danny had kept a lot of secrets.

It had taken an incident with a specialized group of hunters, who called themselves nightmarchers, to get things out in the open. Danny was some kind of were-shark, called a  _Nanaue_ . (Naturally, Stiles called him Jaws.) 

Also, apparently, he had a thing for _Stiles_ . Danny had always thought that Stiles' endless queries about his sexuality was more in the form of manipulative and mocking than serious, and so had brushed him off even though it had hurt every time. It took almost dying for him to confess, and it was to Stiles'  _father_ of all people. 

Stiles figured that at least one of them ought to have a happy ending, and so he let himself be seduced into a this limbo of a relationship with Danny. If nothing else, it was good cover for his Emissary duties.

Also, the sex was fantastic.

“Stop thinking about sex, Stilinski.”

Putting on his best wide-eyed innocent face, Stiles mock-gasped at his companion. “Well, I never.”

Danny smirked. “Oh yes you have.” He leaned in and whispered hotly against Stiles' ear. “In every position possible.”

Stiles groaned and shifted in his seat. “One, what else am I supposed to think about when you look like that? Two, I'm  _trying_ to drive here! Scott will not forgive you if his best man gets into an accident-!” He cut off with a squeak as Danny's hand slid up his thigh as his sharp teeth nipped at Stiles' earlobe.

“I think you should pull over so I can help with those nerves.”

It took approximately five seconds for Stiles to pull over into the nearest parking lot. Danny was already unzipping him.

Stiles wasn't wearing anything under his tailored pants, and before he knew it, his length was engulfed by the hot, wet heat of Danny's mouth.

“Oh, fuck, Danny..” Stiles arched in his seat, looking down as Danny pulled back slightly, licking his lips and grinning. “No, I'm saving that for later...”

Stiles snorted and then swore again as Danny bent to his task enthusiastically. It was an embarrassingly short time before he hit the edge, hand tightening on the back of his date's neck.

“Danny..” The breathy whisper was the only warning Stiles could give before his hips jerked and he was coming in hot spurts on the other's man's tongue. Danny swallowed it down and then tenderly licked him clean before tucking his softening cock away and zipping up the dress pants.

Stiles's eyes were closed as his head leaned back against the seat's headrest.

“ _Jesus fuck_ , Danny.”

Normally, there'd be a smug comment to that but all he heard was Danny snickering, and so he opened his eyes to look at Danny... And sees that they're smack dab in the middle of a church parking lot.

Stiles was still laughing as they pull up to the hall.

As they wander into the building, Danny slipped his hand into Stiles and smiled softly up at him.

This is not a thing they do, but Stiles assumed that weddings make Danny sentimental, and didn't spare it a second thought.

-

He didn't see Derek frozen in the shadow of the porch. But Danny did.

Danny always knows where Derek is. It's a shark thing, to keep track of those that threaten.

Danny gave Stiles a saucy wink and a pat on the ass as he sent his date up to the front to stand as best man, while he settled next to Jackson on Lydia's side of the room. He was feeling happy and cheerful.. and a little bit smug.

Okay a _lot_ smug.

Any time he got to rub that _he_ has Stiles in Derek's face is a good day. Because Danny wasn't stupid. He knew the second Derek got over his crap and made a play for Stiles, what he has is over.

Danny was just enjoying the ride for as long as he could.

Jackson handed him a flask and Danny flashes his dimples, taking a swing before handing it back. He shivers slightly at the burn of the scotch and then slouches a bit in his seat, letting the secondary membranes flick down over his eyes.

Everyone here knew what he was, but Danny liked his secrets. He kept what he could do to himself as much as possible, never once giving Stiles anything he could add to the bestiary.

He has never read it, so he didn't know what observations the Emissary had made about his kind, but Danny knew that it wouldn't contain the fact that he can see electromagnetic currents. Which include certain types of bonds between people.

He looked at Jackson and could see the anchor bond between him and Cora, shining brightly, and a paler, thinner one that signals deep friendship stretching upwards. To whom he assumed was Lydia, since there's one from Scott, the brightest in the room, heading in the same direction. Whether its brighter because Scott's an Alpha, or because they're not only in love but Lydia's also his anchor, Danny's not certain. Aura's aren't his particular specialty.

As to be expected, when he turns his Sight on his lover, he sees the bond from Derek to Stiles. He's seen it before. He knew Stiles was the beta's anchor long before Derek did. Danny knew that Stiles still wasn't aware.

Might never be if Danny was lucky.

Idly, he reached for his water, sipping it while noting what information he could about those he didn't regularly socialize with.

Like the fact that Chris Argent was Peter Hale's anchor...and the bond wasn't new by any means. Nor was it completely one sided.

Now that _was_ interesting. Nothing in either man's demeanor had ever given any of that away.

The other interesting thing is that there were no bonds emanating from Stiles today. And Danny knew that he had a very strong one with his dad and stepmother. Maybe it's some new thing he learned from Deaton, as the Hale pack Emissary _never_ showed any bonds. For obvious reasons, Danny couldn't ask him about it.

Danny set his glass down with a mental shrug. Again, auras were not his best talent. That honor was reserved for his sense of smell. It was far superior than that of any other weres as far as he knows.

His nostrils flare, taking in the information from the room, sorting it. He gets briefly distracted by the scent of blood off to his left, the one truly dangerous distraction, especially during high tide, but its something he can ignore.

What Danny can't ignore is the ozone-and-sulfur smell of magic, coupled with the bond of thirteen witches beginning a spell. Rising so rapidly that the chair is thrown back, an rare show of his strength, he screams to Stiles and Deaton.

“Witches. Outside. A full coven-”

And suddenly everything is dark.

Its not that there's no light, it's that everyone has disappeared along with their electromagnetic bonds that were lighting up his vision. Danny flicked the secondary membrane back from his eyes and looked around wildly. He was alone in the hall. He couldn't hear anyone or smell anyone either.

“Stiles!” He screamed at the top of his lungs, running to the dais where Stiles had been standing, looking around for any sign of him, of Scott.. of anyone.

There was nothing. The hall was empty of anything but the tables and chairs. And him.

Danny had a sudden thought and ran up the stairs, bursting into the room where Lydia had been getting ready. There's not even a scrap of lace or ribbon to indicate that anyone was ever here.

Back down the stairs he went, panic heavy in his chest as he pushed open the front doors of the hall to see an empty parking lot. There are no witches now, there's no anything.

Danny walked around the massive building several times, paces for a while, destroys a good portion of the furniture, then collapses in exhaustion on the couch upstairs well after midnight, sleeping fitfully.

In the morning, nothing had changed. Danny was tired and hungry. And completely alone.

-

The second Peter had heard Danny yelling about witches, he had thrown a chair through the window. His plan was to throw himself at the nearest one. If he could break their circle, or even distract them a little, he knew that Stiles and Deaton could handle the rest.

He wasn't quick enough. The bastards had apparently set the place on fire first and so Peter's move had only served to make the flames surge. He backed off, looking for an exit but with the screaming and the smoke in his eyes and nose, Peter couldn't do anything but whimper.

He could feel the heat of the fire creeping closer from all sides when a hand clamped onto his shoulder, and something was injected into his neck. As Peter fell paralyzed to the floor, he looked up into the ice blue eyes of Chris Argent.

“Did you think you were going to get away with killing my sister?”

Peter couldn't respond, could only stare upwards.

“You're just as pathetic as you were the day I met you.” Chris reached out and pulled Peter up slightly with a fistful of hair. “Do you remember, Peter?”

Peter had never forgotten. First day of high school, Chris had found him sniffling in the woods after a disastrous encounter with a particularly spiteful clique of girls.

Chris had wiped his tears with a handkerchief from his pocket, had teased him about how awful girls were, and then casually asked him if he'd ever tried any other options. Peter allowed that he hadn't really tried _anything,_ ever.

He'd tried a lot that day.

No, Peter would _never_ forget the way those eyes looked when they were gazing down at him on his knees. The way Chris' voice got all husky and reduced to cursing as he slid his fingers inside Peter to prepare him. The way the older man had held him afterwards, fluid leaking down the back of his thighs and told Peter how beautiful, how perfect he was.

The way that his tentative attempt to speak to Chris the next day had been aborted by the complete lack of recognition on his face, as he swept past Peter, arms around Vicky, the same girl who had crushed his ego. The way that those eyes, when they did focus on him, were full of nothing but derision. The way the older man avoided being anywhere near him ever again.

He would never fail to remember that.

“You really thought that I loved you, didn't you, Peter? Thought that one pity fuck was going to give you a happily ever after. You don't deserve a happy ending, you piece of shit, you _monster_. You deserve to burn in hell.”

Chris let his head go and stepped back.

Peter could feel the flames creep closer.

“But first, I'm going to finish what my sister started.”

The man he loved vanished into the smoke, and as the fire surrounded him, Peter began to scream.


	3. Remedy

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Derek felt like he was underwater. He heard Danny yelling and immediately ran towards the dais. If it's witches, they're going after Stiles.

They always go after Stiles.

As Derek's hand reached out, he heard glass breaking and smelled smoke, and then he grasped a handful of a fabric and tugged it towards him.

“Daddy?” The little voice was scared, her eyes big and honey-colored like her Papa's. He held her close, pressing her to his chest so she didn't see their life go up in flames.

_This can't be happening. Not again._

He was pacing back and forth with her in his arms, desperately watching the front door. Stiles would come out any second now, he had to. He would pop out that door with their baby, their little Boyd, in one arm, and some stupid thing he'd just _had to_ save in the other.

Derek had complete faith in Stiles' ability to survive anything.

When the Sheriff arrived, Derek shoved Laura into his arms before he could say anything and rushed towards the doorway. He wouldn't heal like an Alpha but he'd do better than the firefighters who were just arriving.

Before he could enter, the whole structure came crashing down.

Someone was making a horrific noise, and Derek clapped his hands over his ears before he understood that it was him. Someone tried to grab him and he struggled, slashing and clawing, fighting because he can't think about the fact that his mate and his cub are gone.

And he knew they were gone. There was a burning pit of blackness in his heart now where they used to reside.

It took Scott three tries to use his Alpha dominance to snap Derek out of it.

When Derek was cognizant again, he was deep in the preserve, and in the center of what's left of his pack. The second he blinked back the glowing blue eyes, little Erica is pressed into his arms, and she wrapped around him as tightly as a three year old can.

Scott was suddenly holding on to both of them, pulling Isaac in close. Jackson and Cora pressed close after another heartbeat. The humans are dealing with the fire and police.

So there was no one to save them when the wolfsbane bullets start flying. Derek grabbed Erica and tried to run, but he was halted by a very familiar voice.

“Ah, ah, ah, Derek.”

 _No._ He can't even.. And then there she is.

“I'm _so_ not done with you yet.”

Kate. It can't be. But it is. She's dead. He watched her die.

Apparently not.

His eyes were wild as he snarled at her, desperately looking for an out, but there was a circle of hunters surrounding him. He felt the snap of a bond as Isaac succumbed to the wolfsbane.

And then a sting as something pinched in his neck.

“Kanima venom,” Kate explained as she plucked his screaming daughter from his arms.

“No wolfsbane for you Derek. I want you to _live_.”

One of her hunters dragged Scott's body over next to Derek. His hand was lifted, just like it had been with Boyd, and used to kill his Alpha.

His body twitched as he felts the power rush through him, pushing the venom through his veins faster.

Not fast enough to save his daughter. The last thing he saw, before they tranqed him, was Kate slicing his baby girl in half.

-

Chris was outside when the witches came.

He had been waiting to help Isaac with Kira, but had just received a call from Isaac. Kira had gone into labor. Her parents were meeting them at the hospital.

Chris was halfway through promising to inform the wedding guests, when the woman steps around the corner of the building.

No one should be here.

He saw the flash in her eyes, and lifted his gun and shot at her while yelling into the phone.

“Isaac, witches!” He lifts his gun and shoots again.

Tears roll down his cheeks as another set of wolfsbane bullets bury themselves into Peter's chest.

“That's it, Chris,” Gerard is saying from across the room where he has a gun to Allison's head. She is tied to the chair exactly like Peter is. “Now pick up the knife.”

If Chris doesn't do what his father wants, Gerard will do it to Allison.

Chris picked up the knife, which was coated in wolfsbane naturally, and looks at his father.

“The ear.”

Chris rests a hand on Peter's shoulder and presses their foreheads together for a brief second.

Peter whispered to him. “I have a daughter.”

Chris closed his eyes. He understood what Peter meant.

The hunter stepped back, looked into his lover's eyes and sliced his ear off with one clean stroke.

He knew what Gerard would say next and so he continued without direction. For a while Peter's screams filled the soundproof basement. After Chris cuts into his chest, there's a wheezing, faltering gurgle.

Then there's nothing but silence.

It took a long time, but in the end, there is no piece of Peter left larger than Chris' hand.

Allison had lost her lunch once, and cried for a long time. But now she is stoic, numb. Chris knew it was shock, but that the lesson would stay with her. At least she would be alive.

Chris rose from his task, black clothing hiding the true extent of the blood that soaked him. He looked to his father, ice blue eyes cold and dead. He expected Allison to be released now, needed to get away so he could fully process the horror of what he had just done.

He, as usual, underestimated his father. Gerard pressed a button and a portion of the wall slid open. It revealed another cage.

“Chris, it's about time you met Peter's daughter.”

-

“Stiles!”

He heard Danny call to him. Something about witches. Of course, why the hell didn't they think of that. How could they think that they could have a celebration without something stepping in to ruin everything?!

“STILES!”

That's Derek now, rushing towards him.

Stiles couldn't feel the magic around them because he took that stupid potion. What the fuck is he going to do?

“ **STILES**!”

He sat bolt upright, wrapped in his father's arms. “Breathe with me, Stiles,” his father murmurs, “In. And out.”

Once he was calm, his dad ran a hand through his hair and let Stiles go. “Jesus, kid, that was a bad one.”

“I was having a dream..” Stiles frowns as he tries to remember. “Scott and Lydia were getting married..”

“While that does sound like a nightmare for you personally, I'm not sure it's worth quite the level of screaming.” His dad's voice is wry and exhausted.

“No,” Stiles shakes his head and runs his hand over the short-cropped buzzcut. It feels.. _wrong_ somehow. His hair had been longer in the dream.

“No,” he repeats. “We were at the wedding and got attacked by witches. And Danny was a shark. Like a werewolf, but a were..shark.”

“Danny?” The Sheriff sounded confused. “Who is Danny?”

“My boyfriend,” Stiles answers absently as he tries to remember more. It seems really important.

The Sheriff was silent a long time. Until, Stiles noticed and looked at him with a frown, and then realized how that had sounded.

“In the dream, Dad. Boyfriend in the dream. I don't have a boyfriend in real life,” Stiles waved his arm emphatically and knocked his clock radio over. He looked up at his father as he picked it up. “But if, like, if I _did_..?”

The Sheriff rolled his eyes and got up off the bed. “You're _not_ gay, Stiles.” Muttering under his breath, he left the room.

Stiles looked at the time on the clock that was still in his hand. His dad must have just gotten off shift.

He didn't think he was going back to sleep, so Stiles headed to the kitchen for a snack. On the way, the teen peeked in the slightly cracked doorway of his dad's office.

The Sheriff was drinking straight from the bottle, talking to the photograph in his hand.

“I don't think I can do this, Claudia. He's having these damned nightmares. Screaming every night. He's constantly in trouble at school. And as if all that wasn't enough, now he's fucking _gay_? This is hell on earth.”

Stiles blinks back the tears from the things he wasn't supposed to hear, and continued to the kitchen. On the island, there was a stack of files. As he was drinking his milk, Stiles rifled through them to distract himself.

It was such a habit by now that it didn't occur to him to feel guilty anymore.

Stiles' eyes opened wide at the second file.

The police had found a BODY.

Well, half of one.

Whatever. He had to tell Scott.

Scott wasn't nearly as impressed as Stiles was.

However, like the fantastic, wonderful, superhero of a friend he was, he agreed to go into the woods looking for it with Stiles.

Naturally, it went to shit. Fast.

They got turned around and lost, and then _something_ attacked them, and bit Scott.

Now Scott was bleeding to death in his arms, and his cell had no reception.

Stiles was screaming for help, begging Scott to hold on when he felt a presence and looked over to see a man who had been in his dream.

It was a half-second before Stiles recognized him from reality. _Derek Hale._ Even in the midst of a life-or-death crisis, his brain noted how fucking gorgeous Derek is. “Derek, please, you have to help us. My friend got bitten by something-”

“It's too late.” Derek cut him off as he crouched next to the teenagers. “He can't be saved now. He's dying and it's _your_ fault, Stiles.”

Scott coughed, bringing up this horrible looking black goo stuff.

“Why would you drag him into the woods at night, Stiles? Are you that stupid? That reckless with your best friend's life?” Derek was relentless.

Stiles blinked up at him, shaking his head as tears roll down his cheeks. “No, I didn't think..” He looked down to see the light leave Scott's eyes. “NO!”

Derek clapped a hand over his mouth. “Shut up. You'll be heard.” Stiles glared but subsided as he heard a weird noise.

Derek stiffened, his hand slipping from Stiles' lips. He looked down and Stiles followed the gaze to a fucking _arrow_ sticking out of Derek's chest. Stiles reached out, to help, to do _something_.. but Scott's body was heavy across his lap and Derek fell backwards as he was pelted with several more missiles.

“Well, that's the third person you've gotten killed in one night, kid.” It's an old man that he's never seen before. Stiles tried to figure out who he was, and then a heartbeat later he realized.

“Wait. Third?”

The man started laughing as he stepped aside to reveal a body wearing a Sheriff's uniform.

Stiles can't even process. He just shut down. Everything went blank.

“You destroy everything you touch.”

Stiles barely felt it as the man's fist connected with his face.

“No one will ever love you.”

The blows rained down along with the verbal abuse and Stiles curled up on himself.

“Stiles?” It was soft and concerned, that voice, not the gravelly one he'd been expecting, and Stiles frowned up at the man. That sounded like -

“Lydia?” Stiles sat up fast and blinked as he found himself in the hall, looking into the soft, brown eyes of the banshee. “Oh my god, Lydia.” Stiles pulled her into a tight hug, and then he saw Scott and reached out to him. All three of them were crying.

“What the hell happened?” Stiles looked up and around.

“Witches.” Isaac Lahey was walking through the doorway, dress clothes covered in blood. “A full coven. Trying to take down our Emissary.”

Stiles extricated himself from the bride and groom, and pushed to his feet.

“Isaac? Are you..”

“Yeah. Sorry it took a while.”

“That spell was ... powerful.” Deaton, as always, was a master of understatement. He also looked the most discomfited that Stiles had ever seen him.

“What..?” Stiles couldn't seem to gather his scattered thoughts.

“Trapped us in our greatest fears,” came the quiet answer.

Stiles looked to Isaac again, who shrugged. “I've already faced mine.”

Looking around, he saw Derek with his face buried in his hands. Stiles hurried over and went to one knee, reaching out to carefully rest a hand on Derek's shoulder. Derek looked up, wiping his cheek on the sleeve of his dress coat, and then he reached out to Stiles, pulling him into a bear hug.

“Okay, buddy. It's okay.” Stiles was having trouble breathing.

“No, it's not.” Derek's voice was firm. “But it's going to be.”

He blinked in confusion, and then Derek's lips were pressed against his.

Stiles froze in shock, and then his hands slid around Derek, holding their bodies flush against one another, as he returned the kiss with everything he had.

It's frantic and awkward and desperate...and absolutely perfect.

There was a whole conversation in that kiss, questions asked and answered, promises made and affirmed. They lost track of everything else until his dad cleared his throat behind them.

“Dad!” Somehow the most powerful Emissary in generations managed to sound like a kid when confronted with his father. “So, yeah, uhm, this is a thing. That happened. And-” Stiles glanced sideways at Derek, who was frowning over Stiles' shoulder.

“Oh my god.” Stiles had followed Derek's gaze. Chris Argent had his arms wrapped around _Peter Hale_.

“What. The. Actual. Fuck.”

“Stiles.” He finally really looked at his dad, whose eyes were shining with tears. Untangling himself from Derek, he threw his arms around his dad, the images of his death taking over after the moment of distraction.

“Dad.” He found himself crying again.

“Sh. I know, kid. I love you.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

-

By the time Danny came back, he had lived through three weeks of complete and utter solitude. The first thing he saw was Stiles and Derek lost in each other.

He thinks maybe he would have rather stayed in the spell universe.

-

They don't talk about it.

Deaton marries Lydia and Scott while everyone else is either cleaning up the bodies or patrolling the area.

Everyone goes home, but as the moon rises, two men find themselves knocking on doors they never thought they would have.

-

Derek explains everything to Stiles. Stiles tells him how stupid he is. Right before he takes his breath away with a kiss that holds the promise of forever.

-

Peter is not so forgiving. He slams the door in Chris' face.

Chris stands in the hallway, talking under his breath. When he finishes his story, he goes home.

-

Three days later, Gerard is found dead in his nursing home. Chris can't bring himself to care.

He burns the body himself and then goes home and gets thoroughly drunk. That night, there's a knock on his door.

Chris invites Peter in. They have a lifetime to make up for.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration: Clarity by Zedd
> 
> Please let me know if I need to tag anything else. <3
> 
> [Tumblr](http://goddessofcruelty.tumblr.com/)


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